No Roots. No Conversation. Something’s Off.
Niko nearly dropped the mixing bowl when he stepped out of the cramped back room and saw the young woman with burnt-orange hair and a light, floral dress. His fingers tightened around the rim, but the brush slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor. He’d thought he was alone in the salon. He hadn’t heard anyone come in.
The woman tilted her head ever so slightly, as if acknowledging his reaction. Niko gave her a second, waiting for her to say something—anything, even a hello—then forced a smile.
“Can I help you?”
She nodded slowly. Instead of answering, she lifted her hands to her hair, fingers spread, and—like something in slow motion—ran them from her temples outward through the strands.
Niko pressed his lips together until they thinned. Another entitled bitch, he thought.
“Manicure? Pedicure?” he asked coolly, as if he didn’t already know Lara had taken the day off.
“Hair,” the woman said, her voice thin, faintly nasal.
Niko needed a moment. Years of experience, hundreds of clients, more bizarre situations than he could count—and still, he couldn’t quite get used to rudeness. Or that quiet sense of superiority.
He cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t give him away. She was still a paying client.
“I’ll just check what my colleague noted down—what we’re doing.”
Her face lit up.
“We’re dyeing it,” she said, almost sing-song.
Niko’s brow tightened at the sudden enthusiasm. He turned to the screen. Not that he hadn’t already mixed the exact shade she’d asked for before she startled him. He gave a couple of small, professional nods.
“Yes… I see.”
The smile stayed on her face like a painted mask. She settled into the chair slowly, unhurried, while Niko searched in vain for any sign of regrowth. It wasn’t unusual for clients to hate a color and come back soon after to fix it. But that wasn’t the case here. He was meant to apply the exact same shade. He checked the ends—healthy. Of course. Nothing unusual there either. Plenty of well-off, bored women came to salons just to pass the time.
The woman followed his movements with quiet satisfaction, her lips parting to reveal her teeth. Their eyes met in the mirror for a brief moment. A chill ran down Niko’s spine. There was nowhere to land in those green eyes. The light might catch in them, but they didn’t open, didn’t let anything in—just reflected your gaze right back at you.
Niko stepped over to the reception desk as if looking for something, then nudged the radio volume up a notch. The woman closed her eyes and waited.
*
“Hey!” Mia called out, slightly out of breath. “I’m drenched—finally,” she added, almost laughing.
She dropped her bag on the counter and disappeared into the restroom. Niko didn’t react. He knew the script by heart. Strangely, the woman didn’t react either. She didn’t even open her eyes to see who had come in.
A moment later, Mia slipped into the narrow back room and from there into the tiny kitchen, calling out:
“Anyone want coffee?”
Niko watched, baffled, as the woman raised her hand.
“Mia,” he said, “bring one for the client, please.”
“How does she take it?”
“In a cup,” Niko said dryly. Don’t get picky. Be glad you’re getting anything at all, he added silently.
No further questions came from the kitchen. A few minutes later, Mia stepped out holding a wide cup. A packet of brown sugar and a small creamer sat on the saucer.
Niko quickly set the timer, then dropped into the chair by the reception desk, pretending to have something to do.
“I need the computer for a minute,” he said, glancing at Mia, who was standing in the middle of the salon with the cup in her hand.
Mia shrugged and sat down on the couch. She didn’t even look at him. When Niko got like this, it was best to stay out of his way.
The wait, the rinse, the blow-dry—all of it passed in silence. But gradually, the tension drained out of him. The irritation that had been scraping under his skin faded, and the quiet turned into something almost restful, inward.
When he finished, the woman sprang to her feet, the sudden movement completely at odds with her earlier slowness. She pushed the chair aside and stepped in front of the mirror. Boldly, she met her own gaze, then traced her face with both index fingers, from her forehead down to her chin.
She turned slightly, bending the leg closest to the mirror, the tip of her shoe grazing the floor. She rested her palm on her knee, then slowly slid it up her thigh until her dress shifted just a little higher. Her head rolled in a slow circle as her tongue passed lightly over her lips.
Niko and Mia watched, holding their breath. The world had clearly dropped away for her. Finally, she turned slowly in both directions, studying herself from every angle, then gave a small, satisfied nod.
With a distant look, she stepped up to the counter. She pulled her phone from her bag and looked straight at Mia.
“I’ll pay by card.”
The small, almost theatrical curtsy she gave on her way out didn’t surprise either Mia or Niko. There was no other way this absurd scene could have ended.